


In a bind

by muusan



Category: Gears of War (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Hand Jobs, Porn with Feelings, Sweet/Hot, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 15:37:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18501916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muusan/pseuds/muusan
Summary: For a second Marcus wonders if it is really a good idea.





	In a bind

Since  the ravens landed at the COG base away from Jacinto Marcus hasn't had a single minute of rest. Between the debriefing and the evacuation, he hasn't even had time to strip his armor, before he was swamped into yet another level of problems. His feet are starting to go numb. And no matter how much love and respect he feels for the steel plates on his chest and back, they are starting to feel heavy.    
  
The others notice. He almost takes the offer when they let him go, before Hoffman says that Santiago can continue from here. Marcus clenches his teeth and tells them to keep talking. He is not tired; he can take it.   
  
Dom needs time to grief more than Marcus needs to rest.   
  
At least that's what he tells himself, as he sits down on the ammo crate in the storage room after he has showered, and stored his armor and arms safely under his bunk. Not procedure, but who the  fuck  cares now, he is not letting his gear too far out of his sight.   
  
And that's how she finds him. Marcus can feel someone standing behind and watching him before she softly says his name.   
  
Anya is still in her uniform, but she must have also cleaned up a little  —  her face looks clean and the cut on her forehead is already treated. She looks healthy  —   _not dead_  —  and relief washes over him yet again. He doesn’t know what he would do if she died, what he would do if she even got injured. Doesn’t matter anyway, because here she is now looking at him from the well-lit  doorway, and  she is tall and proud and beautiful.   
  
He stands up reflexively, faces her, but doesn’t say anything and neither does she. Words are unnecessary, too simple to convey the magnitude of the charged silence and the inevitability of the closing space between them.   
  
Anya  takes a tentative step into the room towards him with her hands clutched behind her back. The sleeve of her uniform jerks slightly where she is fiddling with it. Her petite frame is dwarfed by him even out of his armor. Under the fickle artificial light of the room her skin is even  more pale  and her eyes are the purest shade of sky blue. For the first time since he’s known her Marcus is stricken by how young she really is. Too young to be in this war, decidedly  way  too young to have to carry the weight of control on her shoulders, to guide people  —   _guide him_   —  through all  hell  back home time after time.   
  
For a second Marcus wonders if it is really a good idea. They are coming together slowly but surely, like two stars, caught in each other’s gravity and there is no denying it, but maybe he should try. Maybe, he should stop, take a step back,  suppress  the need and anticipation, coiling in the pit of his stomach, all for the benefit of her. Let her tangle her fate with someone less rough and broken. But very quickly she is inside his space, within reach of his arms. Her gaze shifts, follows the dips and planes of his body for a few moments and then settles back on his face.   
  
“I’m glad you are alright,” she says softly and lays her delicate little hand on his right pectoral.   
  
It’s not like she has never touched him before. In fact, she touched him many times  —  slapped his shoulder blade lightly in encouragement, laid her fingers briefly on his shoulder pad in sympathy or approval  —  but he never allowed himself to pay too much attention to it. Now he can feel her touch burning him even through the rough fabric. Even when it is so light, it makes warmth spread from the center of his chest all over his body. They are frozen for a few carefully controlled breaths he takes, but then her hand flattens against the plane of his chest, her fingers dig into the skin underneath the shirt, reassured.   
  
Anya’s eyes are watching him with a silent loaded question, dark with emotion. Her mouth, her fingers  —  everything is drawn tight.  Now Marcus can see that she is almost trembling, overwhelmed with feeling.  When he decidedly covers her hand with his and presses it firmly to himself, he doesn’t have any doubt left.   
  
This can only go one way, they are not fooling anyone with all the stalling, but Marcus will not rush. This is one of the very few things he would like to savour, to feel them soak into his bones. The heightened anticipation of the last few inches between their faces, the last few seconds before Anya reaches for his mouth on her tiptoes  —  he hopes he will always remember them.  The important moments when everything changed.   
  
Her mouth is hot and pliant under his lips and tongue, half a quiet moan gets trapped at the back of her throat and it makes Marcus a little dizzy. Makes dark and dirty thoughts rush to the surface from underneath a calm exterior  —   _between her legs she is probably even hotter, she is gonna  taste so sweet, it would feel like haven to sink into her all the way_, slide   _home _ . She kisses him back with explosive passion, threads her fingers through his hair and tugs him closer, like she can’t get enough. The prick of her nails on the nape of his neck send little shivers down his spine, and she is chanting his name between wet desperate kisses  —   _Marcus, Marcus, Marcus_   —  breathless and eager. The lust she radiates is overwhelming, threatening to rip her apart at the seams; her lithe body is shaking under his hands with the primal force of it. And it only grows stronger with each mingled breath they take, each slide of her tongue against his.   
  
Marcus pulls on the fabric of her skirt until he can get his hands under the hem and feel her skin, and lift her up so that her legs circle his waist, pressing them together as tightly as her dress would allow.  Anya  wraps her hands around his shoulder and hangs on to him like vine. Desire stretches between them, viscous and heady, and so good that his knees feel weak. That all he wants is  more,   _all of her_ , beautiful and brilliant  Anya  Stroud  with her strong petite body and her bright voice and her sky-blue eyes.   
  
He tucks his face against the side of her neck and drives himself between her spread thighs, pulls her hips to where he is hard and heavy in his pants to relieve  some  aching pressure. She gasps and throws her head back so that Marcus can drag his mouth along the taut tendons and lay a hungry kiss on the sharp collarbone, peaking in the opened collar. Her legs tighten on his waist, and suddenly it seems so easy to him to hide the two of them behind a storage container, drive her against its side and undo his buttons and zippers and just...   
  
Marcus would be damned if he allowed it to happen this way. They are not teenagers to dry hump in the room with no door for the whole world to see. And all that is happening between them is just way too important, so he untangles himself from her, ignoring her aborted sounds of protest and surprised look in her glazed eyes. He lets her legs down and takes her by the hand and drags her out into the corridor by sheer force of will.   
  
No one tries to stop them, while he leads  Anya  down the winding path towards her room  —  Sam is likely hanging in the common area with Cole and Baird, and won’t be there  —  which is good for everyone involved. Marcus does not entertain any illusions about the way they look, him with his mused hair and tenting pants and her with red lips and cheeks and unfocused gaze, but he is past caring.  Anya’s hand is squeezing  his, and  they move as fast as they can without breaking into a jog, but only after the heavy metal door slides and clanks closed behind them, he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.   
  
Anya  leans against the closed door, her chest is falling and rising jerkily in the open collar of the dress, and she is finally, _finally_ , all his. Marcus swallows hard.   
  
He starts slow, bracketing her against the door with his bulk and burying his nose in her hair, just breathing in the scent of her  —  standard issue shampoo and fabric cleaner and a little sweat. She twists impatiently in his grasp, rubs her perfect body against his front as far as her position allows. She is not trembling anymore, but still wired tight.   
  
“Come on, Marcus, just—”   
  
With already familiar move he gathers the fabric of her skirt in his arms and this time lifts the dress slowly over her head, unwrapping her like a delicious and tempting present. The hem travels past her hips and waist and then finally shoulders and underneath it she is...   fuck, she is all naked, bare for him from the shins to the nipples. She was naked under her dress all along  —  when she went along the corridors to look for him, when she wrapped her legs around his waist, and Marcus grits his teeth as lust floods him at the thought. Who would have thought that under the tidy buttoned-up persona his partner is a complete minx?   
  
He tosses the unwanted dress away and traces the outline of her hard nipple, feels it poking his palm before gently lifting and squeezing one perfect breast.  Anya  gasps and pushes her chest further towards him, arching gracefully off the wall, her lithe tight muscles stretching under the skin. She is so small  —  he could probably make his hands meet on her waist, and the things he could do to her, the way he could hold up and bend her and take charge of her  makes something inside of him burn and quiver.   
  
He drags his fingers across her skin, down her stomach, leaving  goosebumps  in his wake, steadily lower and lower until his palm slides between her legs, to the dark and hot core of her. And then he has to rest his head against the wall, because   _fuck_   she is  _soaked_  and so ready for him. He just holds his hand there, feeling her for a moment as she squirms impatiently and tries to grind herself against his fingers, and then finally slips a little further, dips into the wet folds and...   
  
“ _ Oh,  fu ... _ ” she gasps and grabs his bicep at the first tentative rub over her clit. Encouraged, Marcus continues the slow tight circles of his fingers around it, all slick and sliding, nice and easy, completely the opposite of what his body wants right now.  Anya  bites her lips and throws her head back against the wall, the tendons in her neck are straining. She moves her hands between them, grasps for the belt of his pants, but he takes her wrists and pins them to the door above her head.   
  
“ Wha ...” she whispers with a pleading look in her dark eyes. Marcus watches her flushed face for a couple of heartbeats and then leans in to kiss her, all trapped in his hands,   _all his_ , because he can’t hope to make anything he feels now into words.   
  
He presses his lips to her temple and breathes and moves his hand in the same tight circles over her clit, as her body thrashes caught between him and the wall, unable to move or do anything but take it. Marcus has to drive his hips to her side as close as he can get, rubbing his cock against her through the fabric of his pants to make it bearable, because she gets even wetter if it is possible, even noisier in this bind, and she can’t hold back a soft moan when he tightens the hold on her wrists. She enjoys his restraint and   _Jesus_ , that knowledge is almost too much for him.   
  
“We do this and I’m not letting you go”, he rumbles under his breath, increasing the speed and pressure of his fingers.  Anya  keens, and Marcus can’t take his eyes off of her flushed face, of her furrowed eyebrows and slack mouth. “We do this and you’re   _mine_ , you hear me?”   
  
“Oh, God”, she arches, trying to get closer to his fingers.   
  
“Mine”, he repeats, familiar commanding edge slipping into his voice.   
  
“Yours”,  Anya  breathes. “Yes,   _yours ,  oh, fuck _ ”, and it doesn’t take much, only a dozen or so wickedly fast flicks until she seizes in a whole-body convulsion, her spine curving in on itself and her legs shaking and squeezing his hand. Marcus moans with her as she rides out her orgasm, caught in the waves of her pleasure, and he can almost imagine her being all soft and slippery inside, hugging him like a tight glove, contracting around his cock, as he drives into her balls deep, as he is   _absolutely_  going to do the next time.   
  
Oh, yes, there will be a next time and a thousand times after that, because he fully intends to make good on his promise and keep her close for as long as he can. Preferably between his own body and a flat surface. To hell with the stupid fucking war they are at right now.   
  
Anya sighs deeply, her forehead leans heavily on his shoulder as he lets go of her wrists and allows her to melt more comfortably into his embrace, strokes the damp skin on her back, along her spine. Waits patiently for her to recover, ignoring the urgent, adrenaline-fueled demands of his body to   _movemovemove_   and is rewarded with sweet and hot kisses to his neck and jawline.   
  
“Holy shit”, she breathes out reaching for his mouth with an absolutely  blissed out  expression on her face. She tugs him closer, palms sliding along his shoulders and cheeks and the back of his head.  “Your turn now”.   
  
Anya is beautiful, smart and determined. She will make a damn fine gear and when she finishes her training, they’ll have a blast sending locust into oblivion. And then they are going to win this war. Marcus will personally make sure of that, he will cut each and every single one of their enemies into little pieces with his chainsaw, he will strangle  Myrrah  with his bare hands if that’s what it takes, because that would mean making a future for the two of them. A future for him and her that they would get to spend in peace and love.   
  
More on that later, much later when he finally feels like he can bear to leave her and exit the room, because right now Marcus lets her push him onto the narrow cot and swiftly climb on top of him, and his mind goes completely blank.


End file.
